Chasing You
by rahleeyah
Summary: After Jen breaks things off between them, Nick leaves Homicide for a fresh start somewhere else. But starting over will be harder than either of them anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

_You've decided to end it haven't you? _

_Nick, this means everything to me..._

_Let's get married. Have kids. I've never wanted that with anyone before, but I want that with you. _

_What if we do all that and then in two years' time we split up? _

_Well, it's worth taking the risk, don't you think?_

_Yeah, but I'm the one that's taking all the risk...you want a family._

_I want you._

_I'm sorry. I just...I don't have the answer yet and it's not fair to keep you waiting until I do. _

The words had been spinning around Nick's head for days. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, saw the tears coursing silently down her cheeks, saw the defeat in her eyes, saw the pair of them sitting in that car while Jen brought the whole world crashing down around his ears. The case they were working didn't help; Matt was being evasive, Allie was being downright unbearable, Jen would hardly look at him, and all the while he was thinking about Chris Fleetwood, the miserable bastard at the center of all of it. Chris Fleetwood who, as far as Nick could see, had done nothing criminal, had only been foolish enough to fall in love with a woman who didn't love him back. It was love, Nick could see it in the way the poor man talked about Mischa Downs; he'd _loved_ that girl, and she'd led him on, and now the truth had come out, and he found out he'd been used, and she'd never loved him at all, and...well. It wasn't exactly the same sort of heartbreak Nick was facing - Jen was alive, after all, and he knew she'd never lied to him, knew her feelings for him were genuine - but still, it hit a little too close to home.

He'd been waspish and out of sorts all week, he knew he had. It used to be easy for him to shrug off Matt's ineffectual leadership, Rhys's naiveté, Allie's obnoxious know-it-all attitude; he liked his job, he liked his crew, and he had Jen to laugh with about it later, Jen who would catch his eye and grin, Jen who made everything more bearable. It was like a miracle, he'd thought that night in Matt's kitchen, that they should find one another again, that they should slot into place as easily now as they had done before. He had been married to Jen for a year, once, and the months he spent in her bed since their past with Hartono came back to haunt them only reminded him how beautiful it could be, sharing his life with her. Before that moment in the car, before she broke his heart - and her own in the process, he knew - he'd been thinking more and more about how badly he wanted to be married to her again. He had even, on one particularly whimsical occasion, wondered if it wasn't fate that threw them back together, gave them a second chance. Now, though, now that second chance had been blown, and his heart was raw and bleeding, and he couldn't keep a lid on his distress, couldn't seem to stop lashing out.

The final straw came in the briefing room; Allie, of all people, demanding to know what was wrong with him, why he was walking around like a bear with a sore head. He never intended to take out his heartbreak on the team, never wanted to be the one to sow discord among them; it wasn't his way. Nick was the problem solver, the mediator, he always had been, and he'd always enjoyed that role. Now, though...well, now nothing made sense. So he'd apologized to Allie - to all of them, really - and walked out of the briefing room intent on finding some way to make things better.

And the solution had come to him, in the end, an elegant way to make things easier for Jen as much for himself, and so on the following Monday morning he marched into Stanley Wolfe's office armed with a transfer form.

"Sarge?" he said, leaning through the open doorway. "Got a second?"

"Of course," Wolfie answered, gesturing for Nick to enter, which he did, closing the door behind him. Wolfie was sitting behind his desk, and Nick took a deep breath before marching towards him, and handing over his paperwork.

"There's an opening for a senior detective in Serious Crime and I've applied for a transfer. It starts next Monday. My application's been accepted, but I need your approval."

"I thought you were happy to be back in Homicide." It wasn't a question, and Wolfie didn't immediately reach for the form. No doubt he thought Nick had lost it; coppers spent their whole careers trying to get into Homicide, and most never made it. Nick had managed it faster than anyone else - except maybe Rhys - had cut his teeth in Homicide as a green detective under Bruce Dalton. But then SIS had come calling, and Nick traded his post in Homicide for a year undercover. When that operation was through there was no room left for him on his old team, and he spent four years kicking around in Vice until he finally got a chance to come back onside. Any other detective, having been granted a second chance at the most illustrious squad in the State Police, would have done anything he could to make sure he stayed put for the next twenty years. Only a fool would throw it away.

"I was - I am," Nick answered. "But I've decided to sit for the Sergeant's exam."

There was no reason not to, after all. He was pushing forty, no family, no reason not to put in the hours and take the promotion, the pay rise. He could devote himself to the work, now, in a way he had never really been prepared to do before.

"Never really thought you were all that ambitious," Wolfie mused.

No, he wasn't, really. The pay, the prestige, the bars on his shoulder, the politics; none of it had ever really mattered to Nick. He liked the work, liked solving the puzzles, liked knowing that the bullshit of the brass wasn't his problem. But if he had to leave Homicide he didn't relish the thought of starting over, being subordinate to strangers and bored in his work. He needed a goal, something to work towards, something to take his mind off Jen, and everything that could have been.

"Well, everybody's got to grow up sometime," he said with a shrug.

"There's no reason you can't stay in Homicide while you study. We might even find a place for you here once you've passed the exam."

Nick took one long, slow breath, trying not to let his frustration show. He hadn't anticipated this; he'd thought, before now, that Wolfie would understand his reasoning. Having to explain himself was galling, especially given the fact that he couldn't tell Wolfie the truth. The truth was he didn't want to leave Homicide, not really, but seeing Jen every day and not being with her was going to kill him.

"Due respect, Sarge, I've seen what Sergeant Ryan's been through since he was returned to Homicide, and I'd like to avoid that, if I can. If I'm going to be an effective Sergeant I'll need to make connections with other departments, see how they operate. This gives me the chance to do that."

Serious Crime spent a lot of time liaising with other departments, and those interactions would help Nick build his career long term. They dealt with the big cases, not just murder or racketeering or kidnapping but all of it; Serious Crime were on the front lines of every high-profile investigation, and had even been brought in to assist on a few of Nick's own cases in the past. It was a smart choice, and as Wolfie mulled over Nick's response he could only hope his Sergeant would agree. He'd need Wolfie's blessing to make the transfer official, and he wasn't sure what would become of him if he didn't get it.

"You're sure about this, Buchanan?" Wolfie asked.

"Yes, Sarge."

_Yes, _he was sure. He couldn't stay put, not any more. Serious Crime was his chance to run towards something, instead of just away, and Nick didn't want to let this opportunity pass him by.

"All right, then," Wolfie sighed, and reached for the form, and relief washed over Nick in waves. "You will be missed here, Detective Buchanan," Wolfie added as he signed his name at the bottom of the form.

"I'll miss Homicide," Nick agreed. He would miss it; there was something special about being a Homicide detective, being trusted with the task of finding justice for those poor souls, being surrounded by the best and the brightest the State Police had to offer. There was something special about this band of brothers, the family they had made between themselves, and Nick knew he wouldn't find that anywhere else. But as far as he could see there was no other choice; if he didn't get out, if he didn't make a change, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep himself together. It wouldn't be fair to Jennifer, he thought, to hang around, always in her line of sight, miserable and missing her from three feet away. She lived and breathed for Homicide, and he wouldn't take it away from her.

"I'll let you inform the troops," Wolfie said as he handed the form back over.

"Thanks, Sarge."

Wolfie rose, and shook his hand, and then Nick turned and stepped out of the office, feeling somehow both better and worse than he had when he'd walked in. It was as good as done, now, this transfer; he'd walk the form down to Serious Crime and shake hands with his new Sergeant and then a week later he'd move into a new desk. No more Jen, no more Dunny, no more Matt, no more Rhys, no more Allie, no more Homicide. A fresh start, and the death of a dream, all at once.

He had no sooner stepped out of Wolfie's office than he practically ran into Jen; she was heading for her desk, cup of tea in hand, and when she caught sight of him she raised an eyebrow, as if silently asking him what he'd been doing in the Sergeant's office. She didn't need to speak; he understood her now, without words, the way he always did. _Christ, _but she was beautiful, all golden skin and soft golden hair and bright grey eyes, the one woman he loved most in all the world, the one woman he could never have again.

"Oi, you lot," Nick pitched his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the squad who were sitting at their desks in the bullpen. They were all here; _might as well get it over with_, he thought.

"All right, Nick?" Duncan asked.

"Yeah," he answered. Jen was watching him curiously, but he couldn't look at her; not now, not yet. "I wanted you to hear it from me first. I'm transferring to Serious Crime."

"What?" Allie and Rhys spoke in unison, both horrified. Jen didn't say anything; she didn't need to.

"Time for a change," he said with a shrug. "I'm going to sit the Sergeant's exam, I would have been transferred eventually anyway. This way I get to go on my own terms."

"Good for you, Nick," Matt said with a forced cheeriness that set Nick's teeth on edge. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon; perhaps it was a blow to his pride, to think that Nick could achieve the same rank as him. Not that it mattered to Nick; Matt Ryan was the least of his concerns.

"When do you go?" Duncan asked.

"Next Monday," Nick answered. "I'm just gonna walk this form downstairs, and then it'll be official."

"Bloody hell," Allie said. "Homicide's the best squad in the department and you're just gonna walk away?"

"Yeah, Allie, I am," Nick told her. And then, before anyone could say anything else he turned and made his way toward the elevators. They'd be full of questions, he knew, but he didn't trust himself to answer, not just now, not while Jen was watching.

He wasn't alone, though; he could feel her, just behind him, though he could not see her, though her shoes made no sound as she chased after him. It was always like that; Nick always seemed to know where she was, what she was thinking. That day in the car he'd known she was going to break his heart before she ever said a word. And though he wasn't surprised that Jen was coming after him, that she was going to demand an accounting from him, he could not help but wish, just for a moment, that she would leave him be, would let him go in peace. He'd said all he could say already; there were no words left in him.

He stepped onto the elevator, and she joined him, the pair of them standing side-by-side until the doors closed. Nick reached to press the button for Serious Crime but Jen reached across him and pressed the emergency stop. They were locked together, then, and he had no choice but to look at her. When he did he saw the accusation in her eyes, the hurt there, and felt a sudden swell of anger rise up in his chest. It was her fault they weren't together, her fault he couldn't stay in Homicide, and she was looking at him like _he _was the one who'd broken them both in half.

"Please don't do this," she whispered, and her voice was so very soft and so very sad that his anger began to fade, just a bit. Jennifer wasn't cruel, or vindictive, and he knew it. She'd called an end to things between them for the sake of both their careers. Jen was scared, and she didn't know what she wanted, and she'd given him his freedom out of a - misguided - desire to protect him. He couldn't be angry with her, not for that; she was confused and hurting, too.

"It's done, Jen," he answered.

"I don't want you to leave," she told him desperately. "You love Homicide, and I didn't want either of us to lose it because of...this thing, between us."

_This thing, _Nick thought faintly. It wasn't a _thing, _not to him, and it hurt, just a little, to hear her dismiss it so casually.

"I love you, Jen," he answered. "Christ, I think I've loved you for years. But you aren't ready. You want Homicide. You live and breathe this job. You should keep it."

"We can still work together though, can't we, Nick?"

She was all but pleading with him, and for just one instant he wavered, and very nearly gave in. From the moment they met Nick had been unable to resist her, had always, without fail, given her everything she asked of him. There was nothing he wouldn't do, just to see her smile. But she'd made her choice, and Nick had to respect it. She wanted Homicide, and as far as he could see this was the only way for her to keep the job she loved. If he stayed he feared the tension, the bitterness might eat him alive, and take her down with it. No, he thought, better to make a clean break, and let them both get on with their lives.

"Not this time, Jennifer," he answered. "I can't do this. I can't sit next to you every day, and go home without you. It's not fair, not on either of us. I wanted you, not the job. This will be the best thing for both of us, you'll see. It'll be easier on you, if I'm not there."

"Nick-"

"It's done, Jen."

He reached out then, and restarted the elevator. It whirred to life, and Jen settled back against the far wall, her arms crossed over her chest, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"I don't want to lose you," she said. Nick nearly laughed; if she didn't want to lose him, she'd done a poor job of showing it. It was Jen, after all, who'd called things to a halt between them. And then it occurred to him that, perhaps for the very first time, he had no idea what she was thinking. He didn't know what she really wanted, if she wanted them to be friends, if she just didn't want things to change, if she thought that somewhere a few months down the line maybe she'd be ready to commit to being with him, completely. Maybe, he realized, it was because she didn't know herself what she was feeling. It would be up to him, then, to make this decision, and determine the course of both their futures.

"You know where to find me, Jen," he answered. "When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there. But for now, I can't stay in Homicide."

The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors slid open, and Nick left her there, leaning back against the elevator wall, and marched out into the bright lights of Serious Crime, his heart heavy as lead in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

_Let's get married. Have kids._

_I want you. _

_I love you. _

_It's done._

Jen took one deep, shuddering breath, and rode the lift all the way down to the ground floor, and then she walked on leaden feet right out of the building, stepped into the bright sunshine of a warm Monday morning, the sounds of Melbourne roaring to life filling her ears.

Leave it to Nick, she thought, to try to stave off the end of a relationship by proposing marriage. He was the most steady, most confident, most..._best_ man she'd ever known, and he had answered her doubts with his own quiet certainty. Every obstacle she'd raised he'd carefully deconstructed, but didn't he see how that only made things worse? It was too much, coming too quickly, and it terrified her. Oh, she wasn't sure she would have accepted him if he'd proposed to her on a quiet morning when everything was blissfully uncomplicated - rather than catching her completely off guard in the midst of her attempt to break things off with him - but the way he'd sprung it on her only made her want to run. She'd made up her mind, before, and the harder he tried to change things the harder she'd dug in her heels, suddenly afraid of losing control of her life completely.

Leave it to Nick, she thought, to only say _I love you_ when he was leaving. He wasn't cruel, or commitment-averse, or selfish; he just never felt the need to say the words. He hadn't said _I love you _when things were good between them, when they were lying soft and warm and tangled up in her bed together_; _probably, she thought, because he reckoned that was obvious. It _was_ obvious, of course; she had known he loved her since their first morning in the house together during the Supomo operation, when she'd woken with his arms around her. Since that moment she'd felt his love in every touch of his hand, in his sure and steady presence beside her, and been content. Would it have changed things, if she'd heard him say it before now? She didn't think so, somehow. She'd known he loved her; she hadn't needed the words either.

Leave it to Nick, she thought, to come to this solution, to remove himself from her line of sight for the sake of both their hearts. Jen had only wanted a little space, a little time to think things through, had only wanted to protect both their careers while she tried to figure out what the future might look like. But Nick, Nick had been so _sure_, and she hadn't realized until he told her just how much it might wound him, to work with her and not _be_ with her. They'd always been such a good team, and she'd relished it, enjoyed working with him more than anyone else, had been utterly, completely terrified of the prospect of losing his support in the professional sphere. They were both at the top of their game and surely, she'd thought, they both wanted to stay there. Apparently she'd thought wrong, though; Nick had offered to transfer for her, without question, without hesitation, and while she balked at the idea of him making such a sacrifice for her he'd gone and done it anyway. And it was only now that she was beginning to realize the mistake she'd made in thinking that the job came first for both of them. It clearly didn't come first for Nick; he'd walked away from the most prestigious department in the State Police, because he wanted her at home more than he wanted her at work.

She'd known he loved her, and, if she were being completely honest, she had known, somewhere deep down, even without him saying it, that marriage was where they were headed. A total commitment, a joining of two lives, the comfort and security of being together, always, in every way. It was the logical destination for a relationship like theirs, two people who were mature, and responsible, and madly in love with each other. It was what came _next_, and maybe that, more than anything else, was why she'd felt like running. Marriage had not ever been in the cards for Jen; marriage meant compromise, meant prioritizing something in her life over her job, meant being part of an _us_ instead of just _me. _And Jen had been fighting, so hard and for so long, for her independence, for the right to stand on her own two feet, that the thought of being so irreversibly bound to another was terrifying. But how could she ever explain that to Nick? Nick who was so _good, _who had always been exactly the kind of partner she'd dreamed of, supportive and gentle and generous and kind? No man on earth would be a better husband than Nick Buchanan, but Jen wasn't sure she wanted any husband at all, and she didn't know how to explain that without breaking his heart.

_Too late for that now, _she thought glumly as she drifted across the square, making her way towards the coffee shop.

She had broken his heart, she knew she had. And broken her own, in the process. It had been her intent to sacrifice the _home_ Nick for the _work _Nick, to preserve the least complicated, most successful of the two relationships, but now she'd lost them both. No Nick in her bed, no Nick sitting next to her at work. Once he was officially in Serious Crime they might not ever cross paths again; he'd work on a different floor, and he might be rostered on for different hours, and she'd put an end to all the nights they'd spent together. What would become of her, if she never saw him again?

They'd gone four years without each other, once. Leaving him at the end of that first operation had been a process of grief, for Jen. For over a year he'd been the center of her world, the only person she could trust, the strong arms that held her when she slept, the warm hand that supported her when she stumbled, the quiet voice that washed over her at meal times, reminding her that there was a piece of goodness in the world. For over a year they'd been _married, _brushing their teeth at the same sink, laughing together while they folded laundry, holding hands while they wandered through the market. Being married to him had been the most beautiful dream - except for the cameras, and the microphones, and the ever present threat of violence. But she'd known, when it ended, that she would never see him again, and she had mourned, just a little, for the loss of that comfort, knowing that no other man would ever compare to him.

And then he'd been returned to her and she'd looked at him and wondered if maybe it wasn't fate. If maybe it wasn't meant to be, the two of them. They fell back into step the moment they shook hands and introduced themselves properly; Jen's life had started to feel _right, _the moment Nick walked back into it. _Maybe this is our chance,_ she'd thought then, _our chance to do this for real_. And they _had _done it; he'd drawn her in, and she was powerless to resist the inexorable gravity of his beautiful smile. By the time SIS snatched them up a second time she had known she loved him, and by the time that operation ended she had known she wanted him. But -

"Oi," a sharp voice said in her ear, and Jen nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd been standing in line, waiting to order a coffee, and she'd been utterly oblivious to everything around her. Allie had snuck up behind her without her noticing, and was now standing beside her, frowning, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping impatiently.

"Give me some warning next time, would you?" Jen grumbled. "Scared me half to death."

"Did you talk to him?" Allie demanded crossly.

"Allie-" Jen sighed, but Allie cut across her at once.

"You have to talk some sense into him," she insisted. "You guys were basically married, you're the only one he listens to."

It was true, and Jen knew it. Though they had taken pains to hide their romantic relationship - and had been successful, she thought, given the fact that no one had tried to tease Jen about it - they had not been able to hide the depth of their friendship. Everyone knew they worked better with each other than anyone else. Everyone knew that Nick would always know where to find Jen, even if no one else did. Everyone knew they often shared their coffee, that there were a million other little things they shared because of what they'd been through before. Everyone knew they were a pair, Nick and Jen. It was no wonder that Allie was coming to Jen now, that Allie was so sure Jen would be the one to make him see sense, but what Allie did not know, could not know, was that Jen was the reason he'd left in the first place.

"He's ready to move up the ladder," Jen lied glumly. Nick had never wanted to be a Sergeant; he'd told Jen so himself, during one of their many conversations about Matt's disastrous leadership. _Let someone else handle the politics, _Nick had told her, his hand ghosting over her bare back. _I want to do the investigation. I want to be on the ground, until I'm too old for it, and then I want to retire, and go fishing every day. _She'd laughed, and kissed him, and breathed a sigh of relief knowing that ambition would never pull him away from her. It was funny, really, how quickly things could change.

"Bullshit," Allie said sharply. "He was in a mood all last week, biting everyone's head off and throwing his weight around, and now he announces he's going to transfer? Something's happened."

Jen didn't say anything, but then she didn't really need to.

"And you know what it is, and you aren't going to tell me."

"Just leave it alone, Allie. It's Nick's decision, and he's made up his mind."

"Fine," Allie said, pouting. "I'm going to go back upstairs before someone notices I'm gone. Get me a latte, will you?"

And then before Jen could say another word Allie was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts once more, the queue inching slowly closer to the counter.

_You know where to find me, Jen. When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there. _

She did know where to find him. Even if he worked on another floor, for another squad, even if she never saw him at work, she could ring him, could go round his house, could demand that they talk things through. But what more was there to say? She'd told him she didn't want him to leave Homicide, and he had. She'd told him their relationship meant everything to her, and she'd called it off anyway. The thought of being married - to him, to anyone - was no less daunting now than it had been last week. She was no more sure of what she wanted now than she had been when she'd asked for a few days' leave. What would be the point of demanding a meeting with him, only to rehash the same points?

Except things were different, now. She'd thought, that day in the car, that they could still be friends, still see one another, work together. Losing him at home she could bear, she'd thought, so long as she still had him at work. But now she'd lost him completely, and the sudden, stark emptiness she felt at that loss had shaken her to her very core.

"Next!" The kid behind the counter called, and Jen stepped up, delivering her order and trying to bring her chaotic thoughts back under control. _It's done, _she reminded herself. _Nick's made his choice, and so have you. It's done. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Allie wants me to talk some sense into you," Jen said quietly from the doorway, and Nick spun on his heel, surprised at how easily she had caught him off guard; she did not often sneak up on him without his noticing. He was halfway through refilling the kettle but then Jen raised her hands, showed him the two takeaway cups from the coffee shop across the street.

"My treat," she said, walking slowly across the break room to join him. "I got something for everyone, don't worry," she added when he reached out to take the cup she offered him.

The coffee orders were on the board, and they all took turnabout buying for the crew when they were short on time and short on sleep. But Jen didn't need the board to tell her how Nick took his coffee because she'd learned that years before, during the days they'd spent married to one another, reliant on one another, those days when she'd been the beginning and the end of his entire world. She could hide their familiarity from the others, but she could not hide it from Nick. He knew better.

"Are you going to?" he asked, leaning back against the counter and taking a long, slow sip from his cup.

"Would you listen to me if I did?"

"I always listen to you, Jen," he told her quietly.

Everything seemed to stop, just for a moment; the noise from the bullpen seemed to fade, the air seemed to leave his lungs, the whole world condensing down until it encompassed no more space than the bubble of privacy he and Jen had drawn around themselves in the break room. It happened like this, sometimes; one or another of them would say something, and all traces of friendly teasing would disappear, until all that remained was this want, this need, this quiet, unspoken understanding between them. He had not mentioned their fallout in the car the week before, had not whispered his words in a voice full of vitriol, and yet both their minds had followed the same path, ended up in the same place. They understood one another implicitly, and Jen knew without need of explanation what he meant. Nick always listened, every time she spoke, always took her every word to heart, always respected her position on whatever issue was at hand, even if that issue was the ending of their relationship. _This thing, _she'd called it, _this thing_ between them, this ache in his heart, this desperate need he felt to reach out and hold her.

"You never cared about your career, before," Jen said slowly, hesitantly.

"There's not a lot else to care about right now," he answered.

She looked up at him, baleful and wounded, grief in her eyes like he'd just accused her of some great betrayal. Which, in a way, he supposed she had; before now, Jen had been the best thing in his life, and she'd taken herself away from him. Without her he'd have to divert his attention somewhere else, or risk going mad from missing her. She knew it, knew she was the reason he'd made this decision, but she was looking at him like somehow he was the one being cruel. And maybe he was; maybe it wasn't fair to say such a thing to her, to deepen the hurt between them, but he had never lied to her before, and he wasn't going to start now.

"What about your house?"

_Well, it looks my nights and weekends are free, now, so I'll should have plenty of time to work on it, _he thought grimly, but he didn't say it; he'd made his point already. He only looked at her, and when their gazes caught she blanched, slightly, as if she'd heard every word he hadn't said, and then she sighed.

"You'll make a good Sergeant," she said then. "People respect you, and they listen to you. You care about your team, and you know the job inside and out. They'll be lucky to have you, wherever you end up."

"Yeah," Nick agreed half-heartedly. Yeah, he'd been told before that he had what it took to be a good Sergeant, that he wasn't getting any younger and it was time to start thinking about his future. _You'll be running this place one day, Nicky, _Bruce Dalton had told him once, _if you don't get yourself shot. _It wasn't a lack of aptitude that had kept him from applying before, but a lack of interest. Now, though...well. Circumstances had changed.

"You'd be good at it, too, you know," he told her. "Everybody knows Waverly wants to see you sitting in her chair one day."

Jen smiled at him, but it was a sad little smile, laced with regret. "Yeah," she said. "But I don't..."

_I don't want to end up like her. _

She didn't have to say it; he could see the thought just behind her eyes. Everybody knew what Waverly had been through, how the job had cost her a marriage and a son, how she had nothing left but the Commander's chair and Rhys bloody Levitt. Married to the job, the first to come and the last to leave; it was the kind of dedication that people respected, and feared, not wanting such a fate for themselves, thinking how lonesome such a life would be, how hard it would be to find joy in it. Jen deserved more than that, he thought, deserved love, and a home worth going to at the end of the day, a reason to get out of bed that wasn't work. He wanted to give that to her, but she'd proven unwilling to accept it, and he wasn't about to push her now.

"Yeah," he said, mostly just to let her know there was no need to finish her sentence. "Yeah."

She was standing beside him, now, their shoulders almost touching, both of them leaning back against the counter, both of them holding their coffee cups; Jen looked away when he spoke, but Nick kept his eyes on her, following the swish of her blonde ponytail, the curve of her neck. _Christ, _she was a beautiful woman. How many times, he wondered, had they stood just like this, in the same place, in the same position, having a conversation like this one, in half-finished sentences, giving every appearance of propriety while their hearts whispered words no one else was ever meant to hear? A fortnight before she would have leaned against him, just a little, taken the _almost_ out of their touch, both of them drawing comfort from that connection, and yet not risking more. They couldn't risk more, not while they were at work, and they both knew it. It was one of the reasons for Jen's decision to leave him; she'd told him so, told him she couldn't stand the lying, the sneaking around.

_We wouldn't have to sneak, once I go to Serious Crime, _he thought then, the idea of it crashing into him like a ton of bricks. How had it never occurred to him before now? He'd requested the transfer because he knew he couldn't sit next to her every day, couldn't work with her every day, couldn't be so _close_ to her and yet not be _with _her. The thought of how that proximity might wound him had driven him away, but now...now, he was beginning to wonder. The transfer was good as done - he'd walked the paperwork down to his new Sergeant a few minutes before, shaken the man's hand and agreed to meet him in his office first thing Monday morning. And if he wasn't in Homicide, if they weren't on the same squad any more, wouldn't that solve all of Jen's problems?

_No, not all_, he told himself. She'd looked terrified, when he suggested marriage, and had sounded very nearly hysterical at the prospect of children. _I don't know if I want children...you want a family. _

Yes, he wanted those things, with her. Yes, he had wanted them for months now. It had always been his intention to approach the topic slowly, further down the track, when things between them were more settled, but she'd pulled the rug out from under him, and he'd felt as if he had no choice but to lay all his cards on the table, there and then. But she hadn't agreed, hadn't reacted as if she were relieved to discover they wanted the same things; if anything, she'd seemed horrified to think that their desires could run so counter to one another. Even if they weren't on the same squad he knew he couldn't walk it back; the cat was out of the bag, as it were. Once the word _kids_ had been spoken, she'd clearly made up her mind to run, and he couldn't pretend as if he'd never said it.

"I didn't want you to leave," she said quietly. "I don't."

"What _did_ you want, Jen?" he asked, somewhat more sharply than he intended. "You don't like the lying and the sneaking around. I gave us a way out of it, and you didn't want to take it. You don't want me to go, but you don't want to be with me. Do you really want that? Do you really want us to work together every day like nothing ever happened? Like I don't love you?"

_Like you don't love me? _He wondered. She'd never said the words to him, but he'd never really needed to hear them. He'd been sure, before now, that she loved him. Been sure that they were on the same page, that they both wanted one another, needed one another, loved one another. _This means everything to me, _she'd told him, and that sounded an awful lot like love. But maybe, he thought then, maybe it wasn't love, after all. Maybe she did want them just to work together, maybe the professional was the relationship that mattered most to her.

_Christ,_ he thought. _Maybe I had it all wrong._

But then she spoke, and he regretted having doubted her, even for a moment.

"I don't know," she told him, and her voice was soft, and sad, and broken. "I don't want you to sacrifice anything for me. I don't want to cost you a career that mattered to you. I don't want you to risk everything only to find out I wasn't worth it. I don't want to be something you regret."

Tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke, sparkling bright as diamonds in the hellish glow of the fluorescents overhead. He could almost feel her trembling beside him, could see the way her emotions threatened to drown her, though she managed to cling to her self-control, the way she always did. She was a tough nut to crack, his Jennifer; she was brave, and she was strong, and she held her own, even in moments like this one, when her heart was raw, when she finally allowed herself to be vulnerable, finally let him see straight into the very heart of her.

Nick had believed, before now, that when Jen spoke of them breaking up in two years time it was an abstract sort of thought, a disturbing sort of _what if, _but he had not given much consideration to the idea. They'd been married before; he knew how she left dirty dishes in the sink and snored - just a little - knew what she looked like stumbling out of bed in the morning, knew how she tended to leave a trail of clothes from the doorway to the bedroom when she came home from work. He knew all her little habits, all her little quirks, all the things that you learn about a person, living with them for so long. Most of those things he'd learned while they were undercover, but they'd discovered so much more about themselves over the last few months, had been able, finally, to talk about their families and their pasts, and every single thing she told him only made him love her more. The idea that he might grow tired of her was laughable, to his mind, but it was clearly a very real threat as far as Jen was concerned, and he rather thought that needed to be corrected.

"The only thing I regret," he told her softly, "is every moment I spend apart from you."

Jen drew in a sharp breath, but whatever she intended to say was lost, for Allie appeared in the break room doorway then, frowning.

"Briefing room," she said tersely.

"Yeah, all right," Nick answered.

Jen was already stepping away from him, chin held high, and so he let her go, his thoughts a tangled mess he could not unravel.


	4. Chapter 4

Allie's untimely interruption had put an end to Nick and Jen's private conversation, and they'd had no more chances to steal a moment for themselves, for Jen to look into his eyes and see the love, and the grief there, for her to speak to him softly, and perhaps find some way out of this mess for them both. She had hoped, earlier in the day, that she might be able to waylay him before he left, that they might even be able to leave together, and finish what they'd started in the break room, but Matt had given them different assignments, and Jen had been chained to her desk when Nick walked resolutely out of the station, never looking back.

_We can't leave it here, _that's what she told herself, the words he'd said spinning madly round and round in her mind. _This can't be the end of it. _Her plan, such as it was, had been to call a halt to their romantic entanglement, to heal their friendship, and perhaps, further down the road, make a plan for their future, when things were more settled. When she didn't feel as if the walls were closing in around her, as if she were racing towards a decision she wasn't yet ready to make. That plan had been laid waste, however, when Nick announced his transfer, and the timetable for it. One week, that's all the time she had, to sort things out with Nick. To decide whether it really was for the best that he leave, that she not see him every day, or whether they could…

Whether they could what? That was the part Jen couldn't quite figure out. What were their other options? Could she talk him into changing his mind, staying in Homicide at least until he'd sat the Sergeant's exam? Would it matter if he stayed for those months, if he was planning to leave any way? As much as she hated it his transfer did offer up other opportunities; if he was on another squad they could see each other, properly, would not have to hide, though there would certainly be questions. And while there was a part of her that longed to grab hold of this chance of salvaging their relationship with both hands she wasn't sure it was a possibility, not really. Nick being on another squad wouldn't make her any more ready for marriage and babies and committing her life to someone else.

Only, Nick wasn't just _someone. _Nick was _Nick, _beautiful, steady, funny, wonderful Nick, who knew her inside and out, who treated her so gently, respected her, _loved _her, Nick who she loved more than anyone else. She knew what it would be like, being married to Nick; she'd tasted it once before, and sometimes she almost ached for wanting that closeness back. But she'd broken his heart, now, turned both their lives upside down; even if she came around to the idea of marriage, she had no idea whether Nick would trust her enough to take her back, after all of this. The back and forth, the painful way she'd shattered them both, might be more than a man like Nick, a man who always knew exactly what he wanted and always went after it, might be able to bear.

_You know where I am._

She _did_ know, and so as soon as she could she packed up her things and left the office, driving straight to Nick's half-restored house. There was no way to know what tomorrow might bring, whether they'd have another chance to speak to one another, and the clock was ticking; she only had a week, to sort all this out, and then Nick would be gone. Oh, his house would still be here, and him in it, whenever she found the courage to go to him, but there was something about his transfer that seemed eerily final, as if come next Monday there would be no changing the state of their relationship, no more second chances.

When she pulled up to his house his ute was parked outside, which reassured her somewhat; he hadn't gone out for a drink, then, hadn't gone somewhere she couldn't follow. Before she could let her nerves get the better of her Jen was out of the car, marching smartly up to his front door. She rang the bell, and then she waited, shifting uneasily from one foot to another, trying to organize her thoughts.

She had no earthly idea what she was going to say to him. What was there left to say, that had not been said already? The love between them meant everything to her, and she'd told him so. She didn't want him to take a transfer to salvage their relationship, and she didn't want him to take it to put distance between them, and she'd told him that, too. She'd told him she wasn't sure about marriage, about children, wasn't sure about anything except that she didn't want to leave Homicide. He'd told her that he loved her, but he couldn't work with her, not any more. What was left?

Only this churning, wild sense of desperation she felt at the thought of not seeing him every day. _The only thing I regret is every moment I spend apart from you; _Nick had told her he felt it, too, in his own way. But if they didn't want to be apart, and they couldn't be together, what was left?

Too much time had passed, and no sound had come from inside the house; Jen knocked on the door, loudly, but as she did she noticed that the lights were off inside. She tried the door handle, and found it locked. At this time of the evening there was only reason why he wouldn't be answering the door while his ute was parked outside; he must have gone for a run. They used to do that together, during the brief period after the Supomo operation and the day everything fell apart in the car; they used to come home from work - his home or hers, it made no difference, for any place they were together became _theirs -_ and change their clothes, and go out into the evening, together. If they were at hers, they'd go to the park, and if they were at his they'd run along the pavement. Sometimes they talked as they started out, until they grew too winded to speak, but mostly they ran in silence, Nick a little ahead of her - Jen was fast, but his legs were longer - their feet slapping in time to one another, breaths sharp and short, darkness falling around them. Nick said it cleared his head, helped him think, and even though Jen only did it for the exercise he told her he liked having her with him. They'd run together _before_, during that year they'd spent sequestered from their lives; they'd been silent then, too, and comfortable in it, for they did not always need to speak. Just being close was enough, for both of them.

There was no telling when he'd set out, but Jen knew he wouldn't be gone too long, and so she sat down on the steps, drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and waited for him.

* * *

Running always helped. He could run, and he could think, untroubled by conversation or the distraction of the telly or the radio or anything else. Nick liked the quiet, but life was loud, sometimes. Running was quiet, and it was quiet he needed, just now.

He used to run with Jen. They'd go out for no more than an hour, come home sweaty and happy, and he'd make them something to eat while she showered, and she'd come back and kiss his cheek and wrinkle her nose at the smell, send him off to clean himself up while she finished their meal. And then they'd sit down together, and they'd eat, and they'd laugh, and then they'd tumble into bed together, wrapped around one another, happy. It had been a comfortable sort of routine they established for themselves. He was content just to be near her, and they'd learned enough about one another's preferences to be comfortable and unconcerned with impressing one another, or trying to hide their flaws. Maybe that's what it was, more than anything else; life with Jen was comfortable, familiar, right, like sliding into bed at the end of a long day and feeling only peace, knowing everything was it should be. He'd missed that, during their years apart, that sense of rightness. Having a taste of it once more had been like heaven to him, but now….well. Now was now.

The usual circuit took him just under an hour, and as he came pounding back down the pavement towards his house he was thinking of a quiet supper, and all the quiet nights that loomed ahead of him with a grim sort of resignation. Jen had made her choice, and he'd made his own, and that was that. As he drew near the house, however, he saw a car parked just behind his ute, and his heart sank, just a little. He knew that car; he'd sat in it often enough. He'd prepared himself to face a quiet night alone, but now it seemed that was not to be the case, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. _You know where to find me, _that's what he'd told her, but he hadn't expected her to come so soon, and he frankly had no idea what to say to her. How could he give her what she wanted, when she didn't even know herself what that was? How could he love her, when she wouldn't let him, but wouldn't let him go?

She was sitting on the steps, and he ran right up to her, stopping as he reached her. He was sweaty and out of breath, and if this had been any other day she would have teased him for his messy hair, but now she only sat, looking up at him with eyes that were wide with some emotion he could not name.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he answered, still panting just a little.

"Can we talk?"

Part of him wanted to say _yes_. Part of him wanted to invite her in, to cook her dinner, to sit with her the way he used to do. Part of him wanted to make the offer, right then and there; _I'll be on another squad. We won't have to hide. Don't let me go, Jen. _It would have been easy, but Nick had learned a long time before that what was easy was rarely right. Taking Jen back now wouldn't answer all her questions, wouldn't undo the damage that had already been done. And what if a fortnight from now, a month from now, she got that restless look in her eyes and danced away from him again? Nick wasn't sure he could take it, losing her again.

"Not sure what there is to say," he answered honestly. He'd told her he loved her, told her he didn't want to be apart from her, and all of that was true, but she didn't look like a woman who'd come to tell him that she'd made up her mind. She looked lost, and small, in a way that left him aching.

"I don't know what to do," she said in a small voice, and that solved it for him.

"Yes, you do, Jen," he answered, running a hand over his sweaty hair. "This is why you took the time off, to make up your mind, to think things through. And you did, and you made a choice. Nothing's changed. We can't have everything, Jen, and you chose."

They couldn't have Homicide, and fall asleep together every night. The choice had been clear; either they broke up, or one of them transferred. Nick had offered to transfer, and Jen had remained firm in her decision to break things off. That was straightforward enough for him, even if she couldn't quite see her way through it just yet.

"I didn't choose _this,"_ she said suddenly, rising to her feet, a flash of anger in her eyes. _That_ was one emotion he could recognize in her. "_You _chose to leave."

"Maybe that's the problem, then," he said, as the issue resolved itself in his mind, the words finally coming to him to articulate an obstacle that had previously been too nebulous for him to give it voice. "You made your choice, and I made mine. We didn't make those choices together. You didn't give us a chance to work through it, Jen."

"What if I want to do that now?"

_It's too late, _a hurt, angry voice whispered in the back of his mind. It would have been easy, in that moment, to be cruel, to tell her just what he thought about all this back and forth. It would have been easy to lash out. But easy wasn't always right.

"Not tonight, Jen," he said. "We're just reacting, running from one thing to the next. We - _I _need a little time."

He didn't, not really; he was ready to hash it all out right then and there. But he rather thought that she needed the time, though she wouldn't appreciate him saying it. She'd made her choice, and when he'd pushed back she'd retreated further from his grasp. Now she was just scared, he was sure, panicked about a future she hadn't planned for. Whatever step they took next Nick didn't want it to be impulsive, because in his experience impulses didn't last. No, if she wanted them to have a future together then _he_ wanted her to be sure, and ready, and she wasn't now. _Might not ever be, _he thought, but that was a question for another day.

"Fine," she said, though she didn't sound _fine_ at all. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

And without another word she marched resolutely away from him, never looking back. Nick did, though; he watched her go, wondering whether he'd done the right thing, or if he'd just let the love of his life slip through his fingers for the last time.


	5. Chapter 5

The days always seemed to pass more quickly when Nick didn't want them to. His transfer to Serious Crime was a ticking time bomb that could easily spell the end of anything between himself and Jen, and it was looming closer by the minute. When Monday came, and he pulled the pin out of that particular grenade, he was certain there would be no way to put them back together. He'd told Jen he needed more time, but he'd said it for her sake, wanting to give her the space she so clearly needed to think things through. He'd thought she'd find her way back to him, in the end; Jennifer wasn't one to let things go without a fight.

Only this time, this time he rather thought she might. It was Thursday, only one working day left until everything between them would end, and she had not tried, not even once, to raise the subject of their relationship again. Hadn't caught him out in the break room, or turned up on his front steps again. She'd not been cold, or cruel, but she hadn't been..._there_, either. Everyone was busy with the murdered pornographer - and now, his murdered girlfriend - and Jen hardly seemed to see him.

He saw _her, _though. The crinkle between her eyebrows that usually meant she was working her way through some particularly difficult problem had been ever-present, the last few days. She looked tired, and when her gaze caught his she looked sad, too. Perhaps, he thought, she was waiting for him, waiting for him to allow them the chance to talk, hoping he would come to her even as he hoped _she _would come to him. Perhaps he'd done the wrong thing, in giving her space. Perhaps, he told himself, what they needed was to talk, _now, _before it was too late.

Not right this second, though; they were seated at their desks, right next to each other but not speaking, and the clock was ticking. There was a nice dress in a plastic garment bag laid out across the corner of Jen's desk, no doubt meant for the Women in Blue dinner that night, but Jen's eyes were glued to her computer, and she gave no sign that she was preparing to leave. That was no good, Nick thought; this dinner was Waverly's brainchild, and he and Jen had talked about it, more than once. He knew how important it was to Waverly, and therefore how important it was to Jen, that she be there. Jen had ambitions, unlike Nick, and she understood the importance of networking, and being in the right place at the right time. _She's the one who ought to be going for Sergeant, _he thought.

"Don't you have a dinner to go to?" he asked her quietly as Rhys and Allie chattered behind them.

Jen looked surprised for a moment, as if she hadn't expected him to speak to her, or hadn't expected him to remember. He had, of course; he always remembered the important things.

"Yeah," she said, "but…" she made a soft, hopeless sort of sound, gesturing towards her computer, and Nick understood then what she meant. She wanted to go, but work was keeping her chained to her desk, following Matt's orders and unable to leave. There was a lot of work to be done, and Nick knew it, but it was getting late, and most of it could keep another day. There was no reason, he thought, why she should have to suffer when he was nearly done with his own tasks; she had somewhere to be, and he most certainly didn't.

"I'll take over," he said softly.

For a terrible moment Jen hesitated, looking somehow uncertain, as if she did not know what to make of this kindness, or even if she ought to accept it.

"No," she said, her voice as soft as his had been. "You don't have to do that."

She looked wounded, somehow, regretful, and he wondered if she was thinking then, as he was, that a month before she would not have hesitated to take his offer of help, and would have thanked him for it in grand fashion later. Everything had changed between them, and Nick hated it, he _hated_ it, hated to see her looking small and lost, hated the chasm of grief and hurt that had sprung up between them. _This can't be how it ends, _he thought, looking at her. He couldn't bear it, to have their final interactions be so fraught with such sorrow, their hearts so distant from one another. It was kindness he had offered her, kindness he wanted to give her, even if she would accept nothing else from him again.

"I'm happy to stay back." He pushed the issue one final time, hoping she would understand, that he wasn't trying to win her back, or put himself back in her good books, that he wanted only to help her, no strings attached.

She looked at him, for a long moment, grey eyes searching his face, and then she smiled once, far too briefly, and began to pack up her things.

"Thanks, Nick." Her tone was earnest, and soft, and he could not help but smile, though she did not see it. She scooped up her things and left as quickly as she could, and as she did he watched her, looking at the dress she carried. He could not discern any details about it, save for the color, a rich sort of teal, and the fact that it was rather short. A month ago he could have hoped to see her in that dress, after, the color rich against her skin, her perfect legs on glorious display, and he would have told her how beautiful she looked, and then…

The bell for the lifts dinged softly behind him, and he knew then that she was gone, and tried to ignore the way his heart sank in his chest at the loss of her.

* * *

Perhaps it was not necessary that Jen go to see Waverly before she left for the dinner, but she hoped to see Jamie there, and she wanted to know before she arrived what the powers that be had decided to do about her, the poor constable who'd gotten herself mixed up in the Alice Flowers business. It wasn't fair, Jen thought, that Jamie Priest should have to worry about the future of her career, should have to risk losing a job she loved because of bad choices she'd made in the past; surely, she thought, everyone deserved a second chance.

There was good news on that front, in a way; Waverly told her that Jamie would face minor disciplinary action, but her career would not suffer overmuch, so long as her fellow officers didn't make her life a living hell over the video. It wasn't fair, Jen thought, the old inevitable double standard, and she told Waverly so. They'd always got on well, the pair of them, and she felt that she could speak openly with the Commander; she still vividly recalled the day Waverly had caught her swearing in the toilets, and received sound advice from this woman she'd grown to respect. Waverly had done it all, defied the odds and clawed her way through the ranks and now sat in the Commander's chair, and such fortitude and dedication was admirable, Jen thought.

"Would a male constable have to worry about the same reactions?" Waverly said wryly. "Possibly not."

_Definitely not, _Jen thought. The State Police was still an old boys' club, in many respects. But Waverly had navigated it, fought tooth and nail for her position. The job was Waverly's life, Jen knew, and suddenly she found herself thinking about it, about the job they did, and how Waverly had got here, about the rules and the double standards and the sacrifices. Waverly had been in this job a hell of a lot longer than Jen had, and she'd seen a hell of a lot more, and sacrificed a hell of lot more. Faced with her own sacrifice - _Nick or the job, you can't have both - _Jen found that she rather desperately wanted to talk to someone about it. About the risks, and the rewards. No one knew about her relationship with Nick, of course, nor could they ever, but that was no reason not to ask, she thought, one female copper to another. If anyone could tell her about the cost of their work, she was certain it was Bernice Waverly.

"Is it worth it, ma'am?" Jen asked hesitantly. "Being in the job?"

_Is it worth it, to put the job before everything else? _Oh, Nick was leaving Homicide, that was good as done. The problem that remained, then, was not that they were on the same squad, but that if they were continue in their relationship, the way they had before, the job could no longer be the center of Jen's world. Staying with Nick meant commitment, meant a home with someone else inside it, meant babies, maybe, one day, and that brought with it a whole host of other sacrifices. Was it worth it, to put aside personal relationships and the chance for a family in favor of devoting herself to the job? Or would she look back one day, and hate herself for the choices she'd made? Did _Waverly _hate herself for it, sometimes, knowing what she'd lost?

At the question Waverly looked away for a moment, clearing her throat uncomfortably, and Jen realized too late she might have just stepped onto dangerous ground. No one spoke to Waverly about Josh, not ever; everyone knew what had become of her son, and everyone grieved for her, but to mention it was a transgression that could not be forgiven.

"My career…" Waverly started, stopped, and frowned a bit wryly. "I _allowed_ my career," she began again, "to cost me my marriage." She looked away, her gaze landing on the framed photo of Josh on the wall, and Jen looked, too, and felt her heart constrict, remembering the terrible sound of Waverly's cries. "And I lost my son, in the most terrible way. But I love my job, Jennifer," she added, and her voice was soft, choked with emotion, but emphatic, too. Was it true? Jen wondered. Did she love her job, wholly and completely, or was it just the only thing she had left, the only thing she could cling to; did she only tell herself she loved it, because if she admitted the truth was otherwise she feared the guilt might tear her in half?

"And I have Rhys. That's lovely." Jen smiled hesitantly at that. A nephew was not a son, and they both knew it.

"Look, the truth is no one has an easy life. And only you can decide what is important for you." Waverly drew in a deep breath, then, and Jen could not help but wonder what had been important for Waverly, when she was young, before the heartbreak took hold, and whether that had changed over time. "But what is important is that we get to this function."

Jen smiled; she knew when she'd been dismissed. It seemed Waverly had shared enough sage advice for one evening, and she would not ask for more.

"Yes ma'am," she said. "See you there."

She was halfway to the door when Waverly spoke again.

"Jennifer," she said, and Jen spun on the spot. "There's no reason why you couldn't be sitting in this chair one day. If that's what you wanted."

_Only you can decide what's important for you...I allowed my career to cost me my marriage...I lost my son in the most terrible way...if that's what you wanted…_

Jen smiled, not trusting herself to speak, and left her then, troubled by more questions than she'd had when she walked in.

There was no reason not to be with Nick, now, except the looming uncertainty, the question of what would become of her, if the job was not the most important thing in her life. Married female coppers, they either ended up divorced like Waverly or shunted to the side, sacrificing advancement for more time at home with their husbands and children, or overlooked by male superiors who feared they were not fully dedicated and sought to limit their responsibilities before it became a problem. For her entire adult life Jen had been working towards _this_, the prestigious placement on the Homicide team, the trust and support of the highest ranking female officer in the State Police. She wanted to run her own squad, and maybe, maybe one day sit in Waverly's chair. But now she had been given the briefest taste of something else, with Nick, and it had thrown her life into a tailspin.

_You can't have everything you want, _she told herself as she made her way down to the showers, intent on changing before the Women in Blue Dinner. _You can't have both._ _Can you? _


	6. Chapter 6

It was that damn song that did it, in the end. Maybe not just the song itself - the look on Waverly's face as she'd said _but I love my job, Jennifer _had been tragic and terrifying enough in its own right - but those lyrics, washing over her, the memory of the conversation she'd had with Waverly, the memory of Nick, quietly, selflessly offering to take over so that she could leave, combined with the sight of Waverly, standing in the midst of that choir, looking not strong and proud but sad, somehow, that was what decided it for Jen. It was the tear she could see glistening on Waverly's cheek that made up her mind.

_I would lay down my fears just to spend my years with you_, the choir sang, '_cause when I'm standing at your door I don't feel homesick any more._

They were singing about Nick. They didn't know it, hadn't had any clue when they picked this song - and why, she wondered, why the bloody hell had a group of women coppers chosen to sing a love song at a benefit for victims of domestic abuse? Jen had no idea - the impact it would have on her, but as they sang, as Waverly cried, as Jen sat very still and let the words wash over her, she knew, in that moment, that it was a song about Nick, and the way she felt about him.

She'd been so caught up in her fears, her worries, her dreams for the future and her doubts, had clung so strongly to the vision of her life that she'd spent so long trying to fulfill she'd nearly missed what was right in front of her. Nick, willing to give up everything, for her. Nick, willing to make the decisions _with_ her, not for her. Nick, who loved her, who had given her the one thing she never even knew she was missing. Nick was _home, _and he wasn't asking her to give up her ambitions to be with him. He was offering her both, a home and a career, a chance to have it all. She'd been too scared to take it, before now, too troubled by _what ifs_, but she watched Waverly cry and realized that she'd hate herself forever if she let this chance slip away. If she never _tried; _Nick was leaving, no matter what choice she made next, but that didn't have to mean the end of everything they shared, didn't have to mean she had to spend the rest of her life missing him.

Every question she'd ever asked herself echoed through her mind, and every answer seemed to come to her as she sat with her hands tightly folded in her lap, listening to that damn bloody song.

_What if in two years' time he can't stand the sight of me any more?_

_At least then you'll know, and you won't spend your life wondering._

_What about kids?_

_He said we can make that decision later, together, and I believe him. _

_What about the job?_

_He's already left Homicide. You don't have to. _

_But what happens when I'm working too much, and I'm not spending enough time at home?_

_If Nick wanted a housewife he'd have gotten one by now. No one else is going to understand your job better than him._

_What if I end up like my mum, alone and broken with nothing to show for my life?_

_You're nothing like her, and you know it._

_What if this is the wrong choice?_

_What if it's the right one, and you let the man you love walk away forever?_

That damn song; _homesick,_ that's how she'd felt every night since she broke things off with him, going to sleep alone. _Homesick,_ and lonesome, and missing what they shared. Missing his smile, his hands, missing every little moment they used to spend together. It wasn't just sex she missed, or having someone to talk to over dinner; it was _Nick, _Nick who was always in her corner, who made her laugh, who made her feel _seen, _in a way no one else had ever done. There was no need to wonder what it might be like, being married to him, to wonder whether they'd fit together or if they'd resent one another; she'd been married to him once before, and she knew _exactly_ what it was like, sharing her home, her life, her heart with him. Nick fit beside her like he was meant to be there, had taken up residence in her heart and quietly patched all the holes inside her she'd never even known were there. Nick was _home; _being with him felt right, in a way that nothing else ever had done.

She didn't want to end up like her mother, no achievements, no mark to leave on the world, but she didn't want to end up like Waverly, either, with nothing else to show for her life but the job and a string of regrets and losses. Things hadn't worked out for Waverly, but Jen was willing to bet Waverly's husband hadn't been anything like Nick. Nick, who supported her, loved her, encouraged her in her work, Nick who understood her, the way no one else had ever done. And she knew Nick was nothing like her father, who drank too much and shouted all the time and abandoned his family. Nick was good, and he was kind, and he was brave, and oh, but she _loved_ that man, and there was nothing and no one keeping her from him but her own fears. _I would lay down my fears, _the choir sang, and her heart began to race, _to spend all my years with you._ Could she do this, really do this, take this risk, knowing it might hurt her but doing it anyway?

_It's worth taking the risk, don't you think? _

_I've never wanted that with anyone before, but I want that with you._

_I love you, Jen. Christ, I think I've loved you for years._

_When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there._

And in that moment, it all seemed to crystallize, the way forward suddenly clear. It hit her like a lightning strike, certainty suddenly coursing through her veins. _Now or never;_ she'd been backed into a corner, forced to examine her own heart, and over the course of this agonizing week she'd finally realized what mattered. Jen knew what she wanted, now; she wanted Homicide, and she wanted Nick, and she would do whatever it took to have them both. She could only hope that he would still be there, waiting for her.

* * *

They'd wrapped up the porno case together, Nick and Duncan. It was the business partner, in the end, desperate to maintain control over the job that was the center of her whole life. Without it, she didn't have anything else, and she'd killed to protect it.

The irony of it wasn't lost on Nick, as he drove home that evening. That this woman had put her job above everything else, and now Jen was doing the same. Oh, Jen wasn't like this woman; she wasn't frantic, and she certainly wasn't murderous, but they shared that same drive. A life shaped around a job, a purpose, a terror at the thought of losing that purpose. She'd told him about it, once, Jen had; she'd told him, when they were still undercover that first time, that all she'd ever wanted was to make something of herself. Her dad had up and left when she was a kid, her mom had bounced from dead end job to dead end job, drinking too much and cursing the man she blamed for her sorry predicament, never making anything of herself.

How had that conversation started? He tried to remember while he drove along familiar streets. They'd been lying in bed together, talking about their families. It was late, he remembered that, and they'd had a few too many beers, and the house was sweltering - the air con was broken, it was summer, Christmas was coming on and they were both feeling a bit nostalgic, _C__hrist, _it all came flooding back at once - and he was lying on his side, facing her, and her vest had ridden up, just a little, and he was trying not to look at the smooth skin of her belly.

_I bet you had the perfect family, growing up, _she'd said, and he'd laughed.

_Yeah. _It was true; he had. _Dad used to play footie with me on Saturdays, and my sisters were in Girls' Brigade. Mum was a school teacher. _

_Of course she was, _Jen had said. _Of course._

_What about you? You grow up in a nice little house in Geelong with a dog? Don't tell me you had a pony._

_No,_ she said, her voice suddenly quiet, and sad. _Dad buggered off when I was a kid. We lived all over, one crummy flat to the next. I always said the first thing I was going to do, when I was grown up, was buy my own house. Something that was mine._

_And you did? _He'd held his breath, hoping he was right.

_I did,_ she agreed, and managed a small smile. _I've got the house now, and a little garden, and a cat. And I won't be like my mum. She let one man ruin her whole life. I'm going to make something of myself._

_Is that why you're here?_

_Yeah, _she'd said, softly, on the verge of falling asleep. _Yeah. _

Of course she'd run scared when he said _let's get married; _of course that was the one thing that terrified her more than any other. Jen had seen up close the damage a broken marriage could do, and she wanted no part of it. There was no room in Jen's life for a man, someone else to bring her down; she was going to make something of herself, and he didn't want to stand in her way. All he wanted was for her to be happy, and she'd made her choice. It was Friday night, and she'd not tried to speak to him again, and in the silence he felt he'd found his answer.

But then he pulled onto his street, and found a familiar car waiting outside his house. His heart began to pound in his chest; he'd thought she'd be at that fundraiser all night, and go home alone, the way she had done since that day everything fell apart. He'd thought her mind was made up, thought she wanted her job, and nothing else. He'd thought he was ready, to make a fresh start, but the idea of seeing her now, alone, after everything, filled him with doubt. He'd turned her away once for the sake of her heart, wanting to give her time to make up her mind, and he knew he didn't have the strength to do it again.

So he parked the car, and when he stepped out from behind the wheel he saw her, and for a moment he felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. It looked like she'd come straight from the fundraiser; she was wearing that satiny dress, teal and short, her long legs lean and perfect, those _fuck me_ heels making him swallow hard. It wasn't fair, he thought, that she should be waiting for him, looking like that, gorgeous and golden and everything he ever wanted, not now when he couldn't have her.

"Hey," she said as he walked up the drive towards her.

"Hey," he answered.

"Can we talk?"

Those grey eyes were watching him, unblinking, blonde hair curling soft around that face he loved more than any other in the world. She was beautiful, and _here_, and he wanted her here, with him, so badly that he ached for it.

_One last chance, _he told himself.

One last chance to get it right. One last chance to stand alone in his kitchen with Jen, to tell her how he loved her, how he'd never do to her what her father had done to her mother; he'd never hold her back, never leave her cold, and she was too strong, too determined, to let him shatter her. The transfer was done and there was nothing standing in their way, now, except her doubts. Maybe, he thought as he looked at her, maybe not even them, because there was no fear in her eyes now. Not like that day in the car, that day when she'd been shaking, and sad, and scared; she looked steady, now, watching him, and he wondered what it meant, and hoped.

"Yeah," he said. "Come on."

And so he unlocked the door, and held it open for her, and she stepped back into his house, and he held his breath, waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: part of this chapter is a collaboration with the beautiful and talented andallthatmishigas.**

* * *

They stood together in his kitchen, each of them holding a cold bottle of beer, staring at one another, while Nick's heart pounded in his chest. They did not sit together at the table, or on the sofa, though either would surely have been more comfortable than this strange sort of stand-off. Perhaps he should have offered, or simply sat down himself, but the moment felt so fragile he feared the slightest movement on his part would shatter it like glass, and so he did not move, only stood, waiting, hardly daring to breathe, while Jen looked at him. Sometimes when he looked into her eyes Nick felt as if he could hear her thoughts echoing in his own mind, as if he understood her completely, without need of words. This was not one of those times; he could not begin to imagine what was going in that head of hers, and he did not press the issue, terrified of scaring her again. It had been her idea to come round here tonight and Nick knew she would not have done it unless she had something she needed to say, and so he stood, and waited for her to say it.

"I've had a lot of time to think, these last few days," she began haltingly, and Nick tightened his grip on his beer.

"You were right, before. I was just reacting. I was scared, and I...didn't know how to have everything I wanted. I didn't think I could. I thought I had to choose."

"So you chose the job." That wasn't news to him; they'd covered all of this before, and Nick could feel the beginnings of a headache building just behind his eyes. If she'd only come here to rehash the same points he didn't see any reason for her to linger. He'd hoped her presence here meant she'd changed her mind, but -

"I did," she allowed, though she looked like she'd swallowed a lemon when she said it. "I did because I thought I'd still have you at work. I thought I'd be all right if I could still see you."

"Jen-"

"But then I realized something, this last week. Tonight, really. I don't want to just have you at work. I know I can't, now that you've transferred, but even if you'd stayed, it never would have been enough for me." She'd made no attempt to drink her beer, and as she spoke she gave up on it completely, set it down on the counter and took a single, hesitant step towards him. She was so _beautiful, _in that jewel-toned dress, her hair falling all around her face, her eyes wide and watching him hopefully, almost desperately.

"This is home," she said gesturing between them. "You and me, together, this is our _home_ and I've never really had one of those before and it scared me. I didn't realize how badly I could want it, or how much I'd miss it. But being without you, Nick, it...isn't good enough, for me. I want us. For as long as we can, as long as you'll have me, I want _us. _And I know you were right, before. I made the choices. I didn't let us do that together. But I want that, now. If we still can. If it's not too late."

It was quite a speech, coming from Jen. They never talked about things so bluntly between them, not the big things, the important things. The important things had always gone unsaid, before, because Nick had taken for granted that they were both on the same page. They hadn't been, though; their ideas of what they wanted for the future were so wildly different she'd left him over it. Only she hadn't left, not really; she was standing here, in his kitchen, asking him for one more chance. It was a chance he longed to take, with all his heart.

"All right," he said slowly, trying not to give in to the sudden, wild elation he felt at hearing her say she wanted him back. It was what he wanted to hear, more than anything else, but he needed to be sure she was ready, needed to be sure that she wouldn't change her mind again in a fortnight. "All right. Tell me what you want, Jen."

She frowned, and worry filled him; _Christ_, he thought, _why does everything have to be so bloody complicated? _

"I want us to do this together," she answered him. "It can't be just about me."

And that, more than anything else, convinced him that she was serious, that she _had_ thought this through, that she was ready, and relief washed over him in waves.

"I want you with me, Jen," he said, putting aside his own drink so he could reach out and take her hand. She clung to him fiercely, her small, delicate hand wrapped tight in his, and he held on tight, grateful for that connection between them. "I've already put in for the transfer. You can keep Homicide. I like working with you, of course I do, but I like sleeping with you better."

Maybe that was a little too on the nose, but it was the truth, and he knew he needed to say it. She mattered more to him than the job, more than anything else; given the choice between his work and Jen he knew he'd pick her, every time.

"I like it better, too," she said, grinning, and he knew then that they were going to be all right.

"All the other stuff, the marriage and the babies and everything else, that can wait," he said. "We don't have to decide right now. But this -" he squeezed her hand - "you and me, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you, Jen."

And it was. He could hardly recall now why he'd agreed to work for SIS in the first place, knowing it would derail his career and cost him his place in Homicide; something about the _greater good, _probably, or just a yearning to get away for a while, to do something different. He hadn't been particularly passionate about it, but it turned out to be one of the most influential decisions he'd ever made in his life, because that moment when he'd agreed to take on the job he'd been thrown into Jen's path, and his life had been irreversibly changed. He felt like he'd been chasing her ever since, chasing that feeling of them together, that sense of _home -_ she was right, on that point; she was _home_, to him, a safe place to land, a rightness he'd never felt anywhere else - and all of it, all of it had been leading up to this, to now, to the two of them standing in his kitchen, his tie cast over the back of the chair, Jen in that gorgeous dress, their fingers interlaced. All his life, it seemed, he'd been running towards _this, _and now that he held it in his hands he vowed he'd never let it go.

"I love you, too," she said, and it occurred to him then that he'd never heard her say that before. Never, not once, had she said it out loud. The lessons that had been ingrained in them during their time with SIS - _someone is always listening, don't give yourself away, never say more than you need to and keep your feelings to yourself - _had stayed with them, and they were both of them cursed by their upbringings, Jen terrified of letting anyone get to close, Nick too accustomed to putting on a brave face for the sake of the people he loved. They'd never said it, before, but they'd both said it now, and their hearts were lighter for it.

"So what do we do?" she asked, still looking up at him. "You take the transfer and I stay in Homicide? And then we...what? We date?

Nick grinned; it did sound sort of...silly, sort of immature, to describe what they had together as _dating, _but he didn't really know what else to call it.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll just do what we were doing before, Jen. We'll just spend time together, and I'll try to make you happy."

"You do make me happy," she said softly. "I've never been this happy, before."

Nick smiled, and pulled her towards him, and she went with him willingly, let him wrap his arms around her while she tucked her head beneath his chin and held on tight. It's everything he wanted, her here, with him; he has a plan for his career, and she has one for her own, and those plans are not in opposition, any more. There was no more reason to worry about keeping their relationship a secret, no reason to avoid touching one another when they went out for drinks with their friends, no reason for them to eat all their meals at home instead of going out, afraid that someone might see them at their usual haunts. He could claim her now, and let her claim him; they were no longer hidden in the shadows. His whole body flooded with warmth at the thought of calling her _his, _finally; no more secrets, no more lies, just _this_, them, together, the way they always should have been.

"I love you," he whispered against her hair, because he did, and he knew now how important it was to say it, and he could hardly hold the words in any longer.

She looked up at him, then, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes but her smile was wide, and bright, and true, he could not resist her. Slowly, carefully he bowed his head, and in his arms he felt her rise up onto her toes, meeting him halfway. His lips pressed against hers softly, reverently, and he could feel her smile against his mouth, and was glad of it.

"I love you," she whispered back, and then she was kissing him in earnest, and all thought seemed to leave his head. There was only the warmth of her, the softness of her, the sheer relief of knowing it wasn't too late, that there was still a chance for them, knowing that she loved him. He chased her tongue with his own, and she pressed that much closer against him, her dress soft and smooth beneath his hands as they drifted down her back. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and she was here, with him, where he'd always wanted her to be, and there was nothing stopping him and no reason for restraint, not now.

He'd been thinking about it for days, what he might do if he ever found her back in his arms, all the different ways he could take her, shatter her, show her that no one would ever love her the way he did, and now he found himself filled with purpose, wanting to pour the depth of that love out at her feet. Her hands mapping the slope of his back over his shirt, her tongue in his mouth, her hips pressing against his, eager for contact, were enough to tell him without a doubt that she wanted him, too, that she was as ready, as relieved, as he was himself. She'd come to him because she wanted him, because she did not want to let this chance go, and he wanted to show her that he was hers, completely, that the decision they had made would not be undone when the sun rose. His hands drifted down over the swell of her bum, caught hold of her and pressed her against him, and he felt more than heard her whimper against his lips as he kneaded her none too gently, as his own urgent need began to grow and make itself known beneath his trousers. Every move he made she met with one of her own, her hips pressing against him, her back arching as she sought to move closer into his embrace; with a gasp she tore her lips from his, and turned her face into the crook of his neck, her lips teasing the skin just above his unbuttoned collar and he could feel it, feel it in the way she was hot and trembling in his arms, that whatever happened next, whatever challenges they still had yet to face, she would be with him, always.

Desperate for a solid surface to brace himself against he let his feet carry them both to the counter and without a second thought he used the hands still holding her bum to lift her up easily and set her down on top of it. That beautiful dress bunched up around her hips, the soft skin of her legs bare and calling his name, her cheeks flushed, chest heaving with each of her panting breaths; in that moment she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. He caught her eye as his hands danced across her back, searching for the zip on her dress, and she smiled at him, bright and beautiful.

"I missed you," he told her as he slowly pulled the zip down, her eyes watching him all the while. The moment that task was done she carefully pulled her arms out of the sleeves and pushed it down to her waist, and he stared at her in awe and desperate need, wondering how it was possible, that she could have come back to him, that she should be with him now, sitting on his kitchen counter half-naked and smiling at him. Slowly, reverently, his hands traced down her soft, pale skin, over satin and lace and her smooth stomach.

"I'm here now," she told him, planting her hands on the countertop and lifting herself up so he could slide the dress down over her perfect legs, the strength in the lean muscles of her arms and the velvety softness of her thighs almost enough to make him come undone on the spot.

"You are," he agreed, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close while his hands found the clasp of her bra and his lips found the curve of her neck. It had not been so very long, since last she was in his arms, and though it felt to him as if an age had passed everything seemed to fall into place as they touched one another, remembering exactly how well they fit together.

"So what do you want?" Her voice was soft, and low, teasing him, and he took such pleasure in it, hearing her speak to him that way again, knowing this would not be the last time he held her.

"I want you to sit right here," he kissed her neck again before pulling away, taking her bra with him and swallowing hard at the sight of her, all neat breasts and soft curves and perfect and _his_, finally. "And I want to hear every sound you make when I fuck you with my tongue."

His hands found the curve of her hips while he spoke, and she just hummed and spread her legs, let him peel off her knickers and throw them aside and stare unabashedly at her. She still wore her jewelry, and those damn shoes, and sitting there, naked on his counter, the picture she presented was so lovely he almost groaned aloud at the sight, almost abandoned his plan in favor of taking her right there. He didn't, though; he'd told her what he was going to do, and he intended to follow through.

The counter wasn't so very high, and he was tall enough, and so it was no difficult thing for him to drop to his knees, wrap his hands around her perfect thighs and urge her to drape her legs over his shoulders.

"I want to hear you say my name when you come," he told her, pressing his lips to her inner thigh while one of her hands finds its way into his hair. His lips shifted to her other leg and she sighed, trembling beneath his mouth already. His nose brushed against her folds as he whispered to her and she gasped, high and sweet, and he decided then that he'd had enough of words. She was naked and beautiful and ready for him, and he'd spent so long waiting for her, wanting her, and the moment had finally come.

With his hands still wrapped around her quivering thighs he took a deep breath and ran his tongue along the length of her, loving the way she gasped at the contact. She wasn't as ready as he'd like - they've only just gotten started, after all - so he decided to take things slow, for her sake. Gently he traced the shape of her folds with his tongue, teeth dragging ever so lightly against hot, tender skin, his tongue flicking against her clit and then moving back down to trace the shape of her opening, back and forth, her hips rocking in a way that made him wonder if she was even aware of it. His fingers gripped her tighs tighter and in response her nails dragged against his scalp and everything about that moment was perfect, the way the taste of her exploded against his tongue, the scent of her, the heat of her overwhelming him. Nice and slow he kept working her up, higher and higher, until she finally tugged at his hair and whined and he couldn't stop his tongue from sliding into her.

She keened high and sweet when he curled his tongue against her soft walls, not deep enough to hit where she wanted him but more than enough to tease her, turn her on, and when he grinned the very edge of his teeth catch against her folds and she swore, soft and ragged, and he just pressed closer, his tongue sliding in that little bit deeper.

They did not speak, the kitchen silent apart from her panting breaths and little whimpers of want, so he kept it up, tongue thrusting in and out, curling against her, searching out every last ounce of her arousal. Her hips shifted and she pulled his head closer and he just smiled, and turned his blunt nails against her skin until she gasped.

_That's enough_, he thought, as her hips bucked beneath him and her longing left his lips and chin glossy and overheated. He kept his left hand anchored around her thigh while he brought his right into play, two fingers sliding in deep while his lips wrapped around her clit and the heel of her shoe drummed against his back and her right calf hooked around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

"Oh, _shit," _she sighed when the pads of his fingers found that spot just inside her that always seemed to turn her on beyond all reason, when his tongue flicked against her clit and she shivered. Jen will have to speak enough for both of them, because his mouth was otherwise occupied and he couldn't pull away now, not for anything. Later he'll ask himself if it was foolish to dive right in like this, to bypass all the words they should have said, all the plans they should have made, all the tenderness he could have given her just so he could bury his face between her thighs, but in the moment it felt too damn good for him to even consider changing course.

"Don't stop," she gasped, so he didn't, just increased the pace of his thrusting fingers, just sucked her clit hard until she was mewling, pressing up towards his face.

"_Gonna_," she whined, and his heart leaped in his chest like some wild, raging beast.

"Now," he growled around a mouthful of her, and then she was bucking up hard against his face and his fingers were curling hard inside her and his tongue was running circles over her where she needed him most and it was, finally, enough. She threw her head back, cried out his name, and held his head so close to her that for a moment he couldn't even breathe, could only drown in the beautiful, brilliant, rapturous heat of her.

* * *

If she could have spared the breath she might well have cried, in that moment. Only a few days before she thought she'd lost all chance of ever having him again, like this, but he was touching her so reverently, now, as dedicated to her as he had ever been, and she loved him, more than words could express.

"Nick," she whispered once she found her voice again, hands reaching for him, wanting him. He'd given her a beautiful gift, but there was more she wanted from him, and she rather thought he felt the same.

He lifted her legs off his shoulders and stood up slowly, his eyes on her all the while. He was still wearing all his clothes on, and she was stark naked on the counter, and eager to level the playing field between them.

Nick leaned in, his hands resting on the counter either side of her hips.

"Jen?" he said softly, his nose brushing against hers, a question there she knew the answer to already.

She reached out and tangled one hand in his thick dark hair and pulled his face to hers, not willing to wait one more moment. His lips were still glossy with her but she kissed him anyway, pressed herself against him while he groaned, his hands finding their way to her body.

"I want to see you," she whispered against his mouth, and he pulled back from her, gasping just a little. He gave her that smile, that beautiful shining smile that silently promised her that he would do whatever she asked and he would like it.

He took a step back from her and pulled his shirt over his head. Gorgeous; he was gorgeous, strong and tan and lean, tall and brave, everything she'd ever wanted, and her hands itched to hold him as she watched him unzip his trousers and push them down to his ankles along with his trunks before kicking the lot away.

He was as bare as she now, both of them left in just their shoes, and it might have been funny, if she didn't want him so badly. Slowly he closed the space between them once more, let his hands ghost over her sides, slide up to cradle her breasts while he hung his head, let his lips brush against her neck.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, his breath warm on her skin.

"I want you," she answered. _More than anything._

Without a moment's hesitation Nick scooped her into his arms, as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. He held her waist with a near-bruising grip, her knees over his elbows, the heels of her shoes scraping against his back as she clung to him with her thighs. If she didn't need him so badly, she might have spared a thought for his knees, wondered if he could actually manage like this, but she could feel the head of his cock wet and weeping against her entrance and all other those worries seemed to fly from her head.

"Oh please," she begged, trembling. With any other man, any other lover, she might have been hesitant to turn control over to him so completely, but this was Nick, and she trusted him with her whole heart; this was Nick, and he would never hurt her.

It took him a few gentle thrusts to ease fully inside her. Jen was gasping by then, her sensitive and stimulated flesh so close already.

"God, yes," he moaned when he was finally sheathed inside her, stretching her and filling her absolutely perfectly. "You feel so good."

All she could do was whimper in response, clinging to his shoulders, utterly overcome by him. Nick was just standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding her tight, and then he pulled out and slammed back into her, his hips beginning to pump her relentlessly. She couldn't form coherent words any more. Each powerful thrust knocked all the air and all the sense out of her. She was suspended and weightless and right on the brink of coming again.

* * *

He knew he couldn't do this forever, but he could do it for now, just long enough to have her coming unraveled in his arms. It was worth the strain on his back, his shoulders, his thighs, for that moment when he knew her pleasure was completely at his command. He didn't want to lord this power over her; he wanted to use it to make her feel good, better than she ever had before, to show her how he much he loved for her. And he wanted, very much, to make some new memories in this kitchen, to sit at that table and remember the sound of her moans, not another lonely dinner for one. She was wet and soft and hot and glorious, her head cast back on her shoulders, and his mouth found its home pressed against the taut lines of her neck. There was no reason to hide, any more, and she wasn't telling him to stop, and so he didn't hesitate to sink his teeth into her there. The sound she made, the way she tried and failed to wrap her legs around him, the way she was soaking him through let him know how much she liked it. He didn't linger too long but when he pulled back he could see the mark of his mouth against her pale skin and the realization had him growling and redoubling his efforts. He was thrusting against her hard and she was grinding into every powerful movement of his hips and panting with every breath. And it was, he thought, his favorite thing that had ever happened in that room.

His hands clenched her ass hard and she let out a string of curses as he felt her start to fall. Not a moment too soon, as his legs were beginning to shake, but he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop until she was happy.

"I'm gonna," she gasped again, but she never finished her sentence as he caught her earlobe with his teeth and drove up into her. That was enough, the heat of his mouth and the force of his cock, and she came undone. Her inner muscles were fluttering around him and she was hot as a furnace while she cried out her relief.

Satisfied that she was satisfied he stumbled forward until her bum landed on the counter, his cock still hard, still inside her. He wrapped his hands around her velvet thighs while her own threaded through his hair and she was beautiful and he was ravenous for her. All restraint was gone, now that he didn't have to focus on keeping them both upright, so he just slammed into her, again and again while she mewled her pleasure and urged him on.

"Come on," she said, arms winding round his neck, fingertips dragging through his hair, encouraging him to nestle his face in the crook of her neck. "Come on, sweetheart."

If he could have spared a moment to think it might have occurred to him that he'd never heard her call him that before, and that he liked it, but in the moment all he knew was that she was still trembling from her release and she wanted him to come and _Christ_ but he wanted that, too. The wet slap of their bodies and the urgent bucking of her hips and the heat of her called him on until he had no choice to give in. He stayed right where he was, wrapped up in her, her legs locked around his waist, her tender heat clenched around him like a vise. He tumbled over the edge, groaning her name against her neck while he spilled himself deep inside her.

For a time she just held him, her fingers drifting through his damp hair while he pressed kisses to her neck until at last his spent cock slid out of her and she grumbled at the discomfort.

"Nick," she whispered, and he lifted his head to look at her, this woman so beautiful just the sight of her face left him reeling. When he woke up that morning he thought he'd never see her again, and so much had happened in the last few hours he could hardly wrap his mind around it. But she was here, and holding him, and surely, he thought, that was enough.

"All right?" He asked, brushing his nose against hers, his voice rough and satisfied.

She just grinned, catching his face in her hands and bringing him to her for a kiss.

"Loo," she said, and he laughed, and stepped back, let her slide off the counter. For a moment she stood, stretched her back catlike and content, and he just stared at her, hardly daring to breathe. But then she was moving; she bent and picked up his shirt, wrapped herself in it, and then she was meandering down the corridor towards the loo, wearing nothing but his shirt and those high heels - he could already feel the sting of the scratches they'd left on his back, and he loved it - and everything about it, about that moment, about them together in his house, and her comfortable enough to wander around in just his shirt, gave him hope, and peace. She was right; she was his home, and he would be happy, so long as he was with her.


	8. Chapter 8

Later, after, after she'd taken a moment to clean herself up, after Nick had made them both a bit of toast, after they'd shared it sitting at his kitchen table smiling softly at one another, Jen lay beside him, her head on his chest, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Being here, with him, listening to the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, she felt as if something had clicked into place, deep inside her chest, a key turning in a lock, opening a door so long kept closed. She felt _safe_, here with him, felt as if this was right where she was meant to be, and she never, ever wanted to leave.

There was something weighing on her mind, however. Not a worry, not a doubt, but an exciting sort of possibility, a question that had been raised, that she felt she knew the answer to, now. The more she thought about it, here in the quiet stillness of his bedroom, both of them half asleep and naked and holding onto one another, the more she wanted it. Anticipation began to bubble low in her belly; maybe he would think she was being impulsive, again, maybe he would think it was just the sex and the relief talking. Maybe he'd put her off again, like he'd done the last time he'd thought she was being rash, but somehow she didn't think so. Somehow, she rather thought he'd understand.

"Nick?" she said softly, pressing a kiss against his chest before lifting her head to look at him.

In response he only hummed, his eyes cracking open as his hands trailed softly down her back.

"I do want to be married to you," she told him.

Nick's answering smile was warm and gentle, that smile she'd only ever seen him direct at her, and her heart began to pound as she looked at him. It was not fear that gripped her now; she'd laid her fears down the moment she stepped into his arms, and all she felt, in that moment, was happiness.

"Yeah?" he asked.

There were several other questions buried within that one word, and Jen heard them all. Nick wasn't like Matt, constantly talking, constantly trying to prove himself, to defend himself, make himself heard, and he wasn't like Duncan, charming and silver-tongued. Nick never said more than he needed to, and he never had to raise his voice to be heard. There was something about him, something serious and sincere, that made people listen, and whatever he said was always worth hearing. With Jen he was different; with Jen he spoke more, made her laugh with his quiet little quips, but sometimes, like now, he need only speak a single word to tell her what he was thinking. _Are you sure? Are you serious? Have you thought this through? Is this really what you want? _That's what was asking her, and she heard him loud and clear.

"Yeah," she answered. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since you asked me. What it be like, you and me together. You remember, when we were Trish and Wesley the first time, you remember what we used to do on the weekends?"

Nick was still smiling, and his hands trailed perilously close to her bum before retreating to safer ground.

"Yeah," he said. "We'd go to the shops, and I'd do the laundry because you hated it. And you'd clean the kitchen, and you'd sit next to me while I watched the footy. And then I'd make us dinner."

It had been the most shockingly domestic sort of thing, the way they'd spent their weekends. Sometimes there would be parties, or meetings with Hartono and his associates, but they were business acquaintances, and most of their interactions took place during the week. The weekends were for Trish and Wesley alone, and Jen had looked forward to them, looked forward to a chance to rest, looked forward to the time she spent with Wesley without the threat of danger looming over their heads, talking about something besides work. Those moments had been precious to her, and still were, and the look on Nick's face made her think he felt the same.

"You remember that day you fixed the cabinets?"

Nick laughed. "Bloody things were driving me crazy," he said.

They'd been in the house about two months, the day Nick snapped and drove to the hardware store, and returned with an armful of tools, ready to wage war against the cabinets in their temporary kitchen. Jen had never really noticed that all the cabinet doors hung crooked and wouldn't close properly, but Nick had, and he'd decided to do something about it.

"We didn't own that house, and we weren't going to be there very long, and I didn't think it mattered. But it mattered to you. You saw something that was broken, and you knew that you could fix it, and you did. I think that was...I think that was the moment I fell in love with you." She blushed as she said it, even now, after everything they'd been through; she'd felt silly at the time, wanting him so badly when she knew him so little, but the more time they spent together, the more nights she fell asleep with the warmth of him at her back, the more she learned about him, the more she'd cared for him, until that care grew into something so much bigger, so much deeper, that it terrified her. Even now it was hard for her, talking about her feelings, letting herself be vulnerable, but she trusted Nick more than she'd ever trusted anyone else, and she knew he needed to hear what she had to say. "You're a good man," she said then, "and you aren't...you don't….you just _do _what needs to be done, and you make everything better, everywhere you go. You fix all the things I never even knew were broken. And being married to you, I think it'd be like those weekends. When we did everything together. Even the boring stuff is fun, when I get to do it with you. I want us to have that. I want us to have a home we made. I want it to be us, together, all the time." _And babies, too, maybe, _she added in her mind, not quite ready to commit to the idea but liking it more and more with each passing minute. No one would be a better father than Nick, she knew, and the thought of a little boy, with his dark hair, his serious eyes, another life to hold, to share all this love with, filled her heart full to bursting. Not now, not yet, but one day...one day she might like that very much.

"If we get married we'd have to live together," he said slowly, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was already trying to think his way through it, trying to envision the kind of life they could build together, and how to make it a reality.

"We could live here." Jen had thought about it, too, and she had her answer already.

"But you love your house."

_I always said the first thing I was going to do, when I was grown up, was buy my own house. Something that was mine._

Jen remembered that conversation very well, lying next to him in the sweltering heat that summer night when the AC had broken and they were both tipsy and loose-lipped, and she rather thought Nick remembered it, too.

"I do," she agreed. "It's mine, and I love it. But I want to live somewhere that's _ours._ I could help you with the renovations here -" Nick laughed, and she swatted playfully at his arm - "no, really! We could do it together. When it's finished, we'll look around and remember how we did all this, together. And besides, your place is bigger than mine. You've got all those rooms upstairs."

There was a slight widening in Nick's eyes, a sudden turn to his mouth, that leant him an appraising sort of expression, told Jen he had heard the insinuation in her words very clearly. Her house was small, one bedroom and a second that she'd converted into an office. It wasn't a home meant for a family, wasn't a place they could grow together, but Nick's house had three empty bedrooms, rooms they could fill, one day, maybe. And she wanted him to hear that _maybe_, and know that she had thought this through, that she was all in, now and always.

"Promotion comes with a pay rise," Nick said slowly. "I won't have much time for renovations while I'm studying, but once I get a placement I'll work more regular hours. It won't take long for us to finish the work."

A pay rise and regular hours would mean more time spent together, would mean a chance to take a real holiday, would make things easier, if - when - they did eventually decide to have children. Nick making Sergeant would be good for their family, and one day Jen meant to sit the exam herself. Not yet - she enjoyed Homicide too much, and she wasn't ready to leave it - but one day, one day soon -

"Sergeant Buchanan," she said, grinning at the thought, trailing her fingertips across his bicep.

"Detective Buchanan?" he asked her.

Would she take his name? She'd thought about it, more than once. Her name had become a piece of her, over the years; when she closed her eyes she could hear Jarvis barking _Mapplethorpe! _and grinned. But Mapplethorpe was the name of the father who'd left her, the mother who'd drunk herself to death after twenty years spent pickling in her own bitterness. _Buchanan_ was the name of the man she loved, and besides, if they did have children, she'd quite like them all to have the same name.

"I think so, yeah," she said.

"You don't have to."

"I know." Nick was traditional enough to pay for her meals, the few times they went out, and he always opened the door for her, but he was not so conservative as to insist that she change her name, and she knew it. "I want to, though."

"You're sure, then?"

"About marrying you?" she smiled, and lifted herself up enough to brush a kiss against his lips. "Yeah," she said. "I'm sure. I know you hadn't thought about it when you asked me, but-"

"Who says I hadn't thought about it?" Nick raised an eyebrow at her as if in challenge, and Jen couldn't help but laugh.

"There's no way you did," she countered. "I was trying to break up with you and you just said it to keep us together."

That's what she'd thought, at least, that Nick had offered marriage impulsively, wanting to show her how dedicated he was to the idea of _them_, how willing he was to do whatever it took to stay with her. Now though, she wasn't so sure; there was a look in his eyes that while not quite smug - he was never smug - seemed to suggest that Nick knew something she didn't.

"Hang on," he told her, and then he gently rolled out from under her, reached for the drawer of his bedside table and then rummaged around in it for a moment before finding what he was after. They shifted back into place, Jen once more draped over him like a blanket, and all the while Nick carefully hid what he held from view. There was no need for subterfuge, of course; there could only be one thing worth reaching for in this moment, one thing he'd need to show her after a conversation like the one they'd shared. Sure enough, in the next breath, Nick placed a small black jewelry box on his chest, just in front of her face.

"Open it," he said softly.

Jen didn't need telling twice; her hands shook, just a little, as she reached for it, knowing what was inside, and wanting it so badly she could hardly breathe.

"I bought it a few days before you asked for time off. We'd been together a while, and it was good, and I wanted to give it to you. I wanted to ask you."

As he spoke she opened the box, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked at that little ring. It looked vintage, classic, a square cut diamond, sizable but not ostentatious, surrounded by a border of smaller stones, set in white gold. It was..._perfect, _she thought, not too simple, but not so big as to get in the way of her work, expensive enough to be dear but not dramatic. It was beautiful, and exactly the sort of thing she would have chosen for herself, only _Nick _had chosen it, had known her well enough to pick exactly the sort of ring she'd want to wear every day for the rest of her life. That he had purchased it before everything fell apart, that he'd loved her enough, been happy enough with her to do such a thing before his sudden declaration in the car left her feeling relieved, somehow, convinced that she'd made exactly the right choice, that they were, at last, on the same page.

"Jennifer?" Nick said, his voice low, and serious. She lifted her head to look at him, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, and he smiled, reached out to run his fingers through her hair.

"Will you marry me?"

She laughed, joy and relief and hope swirling through her, and kissed him again. There was no better moment for his proposal than this one, she thought, the pair of them lying naked and quiet together, having worked their way through every problem in front of them, finally wanting the same things, wanting them from each other.

"Yes," she breathed against his lips. "Yes."


	9. Chapter 9

The following Monday morning began much the same as any other day, except that it began with Jen in Nick's bed, happy and content. He kissed her good morning, and started the coffee and toast while she showered; when she was done they traded places, Jen padding through the kitchen, half-dressed, smiling, while Nick took over the shower. When she'd gulped down her toast and he'd finished towelling off his hair she'd kissed him again, because she could, because she was there, and promised to see him for dinner that night before leaving for work in her own car.

It was practicality that dictated they take separate vehicles to work; one or another of them might need their car today, and they were on different teams, now, working on different levels of the building, different teams, different cases. When the day ended, though, no matter the time, no matter what they'd encountered over those hours apart, they would both of them come back here, to the same place, the same house, the same bed, and Jen's heart was lighter for knowing that they were finally, finally on the same page, wanting the same thing, wanting to achieve those goals together.

The thought of Homicide without Nick was strange, of course it was, and she knew she'd miss him there, but as she stepped out of the lift and marched resolutely towards her desk she reminded herself that she had more of him now than she ever had before. It would be their little secret, for now; they'd decided to wait at least a week or two before breaking the news. There was no reason to worry, now that they were in different departments, but their new engagement, the new certainty they shared, was a precious thing, dear to them both, and they wanted some time to enjoy it, to decide what it would mean for them, before they faced the barrage of questions from their well-meaning but sometimes nosy friends. The time for celebration would come, and soon, but for now, these few brief days, they wanted to nurture their joy in peace.

"Morning, Jen," Rhys said as she reached her desk, dropped her bag on top of it and began to start her routine. The desk next to hers, the desk that had been Nick's, was bare now, and she tried not to look at it, tried not to let herself get lost in memories of what had been. What would be was better, and she knew it.

"Have a good weekend?" he asked then. Rhys was already clutching a cup of coffee like it was a lifeline, and Jen took a long sip of her own as she considered his question and tried not to grin too broadly. Most mornings she didn't bother making coffee; most mornings a steaming cup just appeared on her desk, made just the way she liked it, left there by the one person who knew she had a tendency to get distracted when she first entered the office, but would quickly grow irritable without it. He'd made her coffee this morning, too, only he'd made it at home, and she carried it in a travel mug. A good weekend, indeed; Jen could not remember a better one, but now wasn't the time to share that with Rhys.

"Yeah," she said, "it was all right. You?"

It was only polite that she return the courtesy, after all, even if she wasn't particularly interested in learning how Rhys had spent his last two days off. She never got the chance, in any case, for though he started to answer her his eyes suddenly went round as dinner plates, an almost comical expression of shock washing over his face.

"You got something you want to share with the class there, Jen?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

Duncan was already hard at work, but he was close enough to hear Rhys's question, and he looked up then, watching them both curiously. Allie was stalking out of the break room, making a beeline for them, and Rhys was still watching Jen closely, surprise fading in favor of a smugness Jen liked not one little bit.

"You've got a new accessory there," he said, lifting his left hand and tapping his ring finger.

Reflexively Jen looked down, and found that she was in fact still wearing her ring. She'd decided not to wear it at work, at least for a little while; the ring would invite questions, and it was so beautiful, and she was worried about something happening to it while she was chasing down suspects. Only she hadn't taken it off, and she could see it now, sparkling on her finger, and Rhys had seen it, too.

"_Shit," _she swore, softly, and Rhys's grin broadened.

"It's funny, Jen," he said, "I thought that you were supposed to be dating someone _before_ you got engaged, but as far as I know you haven't been on a date since I joined the squad."

"What's this?"

Duncan had risen from his chair and come to join them, even as Allie reached their little party, three sets of eyes watching Jen closely.

"Jen's engaged," Rhys said expansively.

"Rhys-"

"What?" Allie cut across her sharply. Duncan didn't speak; he just folded his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable.

"That's what it is, isn't it, Jen?"

There was no point in denying it, Jen knew. The ring spoke for itself. But this was exactly the sort of scene she'd wanted to avoid, and now that she was caught in the midst of it she had no idea how to handle their questions, how to change the topic of conversation, how to avoid telling them the truth. It wasn't supposed to come out like this; she and Nick had wanted to tell them together, and it felt somehow wrong to make this announcement without him.

"I-"

"Come on, Jen," Rhys pressed her then. "Give us the details. We always tell you when we're seeing someone."

"Oh yeah? When's the last time you went on a date, Oxford?" Allie fired back.

"Guys-" Duncan started to break in, and Jen's heart took comfort from that, for he didn't look angry; if anything, she rather thought he might be defending her.

"What's all this?"

Jen spun on her heel, and came face to face with Matt Ryan. _Oh, for God's sake,_ she thought, covering her left hand with her right; of all of them Matt was the one bound to take this news the hardest, and this wasn't the way she'd wanted him to find out.

"Jen's engaged," Rhys said, gleeful as a kid on Christmas.

Matt paled, his gaze snapping to Jen's face at once, hurt and confusion swirling in his eyes, and Jen could have stomped her foot in frustration right then, overwhelmed by how quickly everything had spiralled out of her control.

"But you aren't even seeing anyone," Matt protested feebly.

That was the thing about coppers, in Jen's experience; their job was to observe, to notice details and link them together, and when confronted with such undeniable proof that they'd missed something this obvious, something that had been right under their noses for god only knew how long, they took the blow to their egos poorly. And Matt, she knew, was the worst of them.

"All right," Jen said, giving up all pretense of hiding her ring and lifting her hands, asking for quiet. "Yes, I got engaged over the weekend."

Duncan's smile was soft, and Rhys looked somehow triumphant, and Allie looked bored already, and Matt looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

"I have been seeing someone for a while now. I didn't mention it because it's...complicated."

"Was he married?" Rhys asked dryly.

"No, he-"

Jen was so caught up in trying to do damage control she didn't hear the sound of the lifts opening behind her, but Rhys saw them, and his face lit up at once.

"Nick!" he called, raising his hand and gesturing for him to join them, and Jen's heart did a funny little flip in her chest. At least he was here, now; she would be spared the burden of telling them alone. And he had a way of smoothing things over, making people happy, and she did love him, so much, and they were bound to find out anyway -

"Something wrong?" he asked as he came to join them. He stood beside Jen, close but not too close, and no one batted an eye. Why should they? Nick always stood next to Jen, and no one ever thought anything about it. _That's all going to change now, _she thought.

"Jen-"

"Detective Buchanan, I thought you were starting Serious Crime today."

_Oh for God's sake, _Jen thought. Stanley Wolfe, having no doubt caught sight of their little congregation, had come marching out of his office just in time to see Nick's arrival, and now their team was complete, everyone standing together, and Jen's heart was racing, anticipation and anxiety making her skin crawl. Matt kept trying to catch her eye but she wouldn't look at him, couldn't look at him. No doubt he was casting back through his memories, trying to work how this could have happened, how Jen could have kept such a secret from him; would he remember, she wondered, the night he turned up at her door, the night she'd refused to let him in? There had been dozens of nights, in years gone by, when they'd sat together on her sofa after hours, drinking his bad wine from her cheap plastic cups, but that night she'd turned him away. Had he realized already that she'd done it because there was already a man inside, waiting for her to come back to bed?

"I am," Nick said, "I just came to get the last of my things."

He gestured towards his empty desk and Jen frowned; he'd come to speak to her, Jen was sure of it, but the excuse he'd just given was flimsy, and surely someone would notice -

"Right," Wolfie said. "And the rest of you? Everything all right?"

"Jen's engaged," Rhys said, and if he were standing any closer Jen would have kicked him in that moment. Wolfie looked at her appraisingly, and she just sighed, and gave up any hope of salvaging this moment.

"How do you know?" Nick asked levelly, keeping his gaze on Rhys, and Jen wished more than anything that they'd had a chance to talk about this beforehand; she had no idea what he was thinking, in that moment, how he wanted to play it, and so she kept her silence, determined to follow his lead.

"We saw the ring," Rhys told him, waving vaguely in Jen's direction.

Nick did look at her then, and he smiled, softly, and all of Jen's doubts seemed to fade away. It didn't matter, she realized, that this wasn't how they'd planned for things to go, that they had been caught off guard; they were surrounded by the people who mattered most to them, on the cusp of sharing happy news, and once it was done she could take Nick's hand, and never again worry who might be looking on when she did.

"I thought you weren't going to wear it at work," he said in a low, gentle sort of voice.

"You knew about this?" Matt demanded.

"Hang on," Allie broke in then, her eyes narrowing, her gaze darting back and forth between them before the lightbulb seemed to go off in her mind, everything clicking into place. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"What?" Rhys and Matt chorused together.

"It's him," she said, pointing at Nick. "You lot thought I was mental and you swore you weren't shagging but you were!"

Jen looked up at Nick, and he smiled, and she sighed, and leaned against him, let him wrap his arm around her waist.

"We weren't technically shagging then," Nick said levelly, and Jen felt the shockwave ripple through their friends, saw the flickering expressions of surprise, and delight, and on Matt's face she saw his wounded pride, and looked away. He'd asked her once, a lifetime ago, to go out to dinner, and she'd turned him down, blamed it on the job, but when Nick reached for her she hadn't thought twice, had fallen for him hard and fast, and the last thing she wanted to do was explain why her choice had been different, where he was concerned.

"That's why you put in for the transfer," Duncan said slowly. Leave it to him, Jen thought, to be the one to connect the dots, to realize first how much Nick had been willing to sacrifice, to make things work between them.

"Yeah, mate, it is."

He made it sound so simple, and in the end, Jen supposed it was.

"Well, congratulations, you two," Wolfie said, reaching out to shake Nick's hand. "And thank you for applying for the transfer yourself, and saving me the trouble."

Nick laughed, good-natured and easy, the way he always was.

"It was time," he said.

It was time, Jen knew. Time for a change, a fresh start, a chance to build the life they'd both been dreaming of. And as their friends surrounded them, happy and full of joy at this news, she soaked in the warmth of Nick beside her, and took comfort from knowing that whatever happened next they would face it, together.


End file.
